


lady i swear by all flowers (wholly to be a fool)

by AngelicSentinel



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Asexual Panromantic Inquistor, Bisexuals in Love, Canon Bisexual Character, Character Growth, Dragon Age Reverse Big Bang 2015, F/F, Falling In Love, Oral Sex, Romance, Self-Acceptance, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Women In Power
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-05 09:08:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5369672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelicSentinel/pseuds/AngelicSentinel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adaar and Josephine are a study in contrasts, and always have been. </p>
<p>Written for the Dragon Age Reverse Big Bang 2015. Art by Cherieofthedragons!</p>
            </blockquote>





	lady i swear by all flowers (wholly to be a fool)

**Author's Note:**

> Art by Cherieofthedragons! Such fabulous, beautiful art. Located at [ Tumblr](http://cherieofthedragons.tumblr.com/post/135212340066/a-moment-of-peace-by-signcherie-my-submission-for) and [dA](http://signcherie.deviantart.com/art/A-Moment-of-Peace-578037047)
> 
> Title from ee cummings "since feeling is first." Be gentle, it was a pinch-hit and written in very little time, and so there has been very little editing. I just couldn't pass up the opportunity to write more femslash! There's never enough!" Will be more thoroughly edited and expanded in the future!

It is a late night in Skyhold. No one is awake at this time, save for those scurrying about on night duty. It has been a calm night with no trouble brewing, and so the Inquisition rests. Not the Inquisitor.

Kostasala Adaar paces restlessly, stalking through the halls with abandon. The servants and couriers pay her little to no attention, far too used to the late hours she keeps by now to be disturbed from their usual routine, making way for the Inquisitor as she thunders through the hall on the way to the War Room for something, anything, to keep herself out of her own head.

She pauses, though, at the entrance to Josephine’s office and rests her head against the wall. Josephine looks up briefly, flashing her a warm smile before going back to her work. Letter-writing, it looks like. Adaar doesn’t want to disturb her, but knows Josephine doesn’t mind if she watches her work.

It beats fighting the terror inside her own mind; the nightmares and the blood and the struggle to breathe alone in the dark, the surge of panic that crawls up her throat and over her skin if she so much thinks of certain things too much.

Josephine is the knife’s-edge on which the Inquisition rests, Adaar thinks as she watches her write diligently in an elegant hand. Adaar doesn’t know what the letters carry, but knows they are of great import. 

It takes her breath away sometimes, how much Josephine knows, how she can keep track of the rules and customs of a half a dozen countries—and many more regional variations aside—when half the time Adaar feels like a blundering druffalo in an Orlesian glass shop—horns and all—in any sort of political meeting—and as Inquisitor, there are a lot.

That’s not even counting the complex weave of nobility, who’s related to whom, that sort of thing, that Josephine knows as easy as breathing.

Some of Josephine’s perfectly coiffed hair has fallen in her face, matted from sweat. A drop of it falls down her aquiline nose, but she absentmindedly pats it with a handkerchief before it can spot the vellum.

The night is late enough it is morning, but still Josephine’s pen moves across the page at a fluid pace, the scratch of the pen almost hypnotic as she never wavers, constructing grand replies meant to further the Inquisition’s cause. 

Josephine is good at what she does, and Adaar doesn’t know what she would do if she wasn’t there. Adaar fights because she has to, not because she wants to, and sometimes wonders why Josephine is the only one that seems to understand. 

Then again, Josephine loves to get caught up in work. There’s nothing pressing, no reason to stay up this late, yet here Josephine sits. Adaar has to do something about that. She strides over to Josephine’s desk, taking great care not to upset her papers as she slams the palm of her good arm flat on the desk, startling Josephine.

“It’s bedtime,” Adaar says, raising an eyebrow. “It’s past bedtime, Josie. How are you not exhausted?” she says with a smile, shaking her head.

“I have a letter to the Comte—” At Adaar’s polite look, she stopped and added, “Oh, you wouldn’t know his name, that’s right, but he’s the one with the very dwarven nose, and then this one is to a Marquise—”

“The letters won’t be sent out until the afternoon anyway, you’ll have time to correct and rewrite as you see fit in the morning. You can’t honestly say you’re at your best now, can you?”

Josephine rubs her eyes. “No, I cannot. But these are very time sensitive and I—,” she interrupted herself with a massive yawn that cracked her jaw. “Am too exhausted to see straight. I think my face is numb,” she says, rubbing her cheeks, her voice filled with wonder, “So yes. Bed. A nice warm bed would be very good.”

Adaar takes her and helps her to her feet, guiding her to her chambers. Now that Josephine’s not working, her posture is uncharacteristically slumped and she blinks sleepily. Adaar gives her a quick kiss goodnight before returning to the war room to pore over the maps and their route for the next week, daydreaming all the while. 

After all this is over, maybe they can form a Thedosian Expeditionary Force, seeking out and exploring uncharted lands, inspired by Josephine’s comment about what lies beyond the sea. She likes the sound of that a lot better than Inquisition, though this trip is all about clearing out leftover red templars. Still, she also needs to do something about Josephine’s penchant to overwork. 

She smiles as an idea comes to her and she pens a quick letter to Leliana, giving it to one of Leliana’s agents as she heads to bed. 

The next morning she’s out of bed, early even for her, and knee deep in mud as she gardens in the corner of Skyhold dedicated to such things. They have a good herbalist, but she’s always preferred a hands on approach, and it’s very calming. She’s also not a bad hand at mixing poultices and poisons.

Almost as if a magnet or a Force spell is pulling her, she looks up, and sees Josephine talking to a chantry sister. She doesn’t call out to her, instead she just observes: Josephine has a perfect posture, and her dress is elegantly fitted and unwrinkled, and in the Antivan style, as always. 

There is a curl of unmanageable hair that has fallen out of her sweep, and she is smiling, her face a perfect representation of all that is sun and light. Adaar’s always loved how her face transforms when she is open and unguarded; it isn’t always, but Adaar has known her long enough to be able to tell her placid, diplomatic look from her true face.  
Some people think they are the same, but they are not. Josephine keeps herself deeply hidden inside herself, a holdover from her time as a bard, and does not open easily, even to her friends, or to her lover. 

Josephine is a paradox. It amazes Adaar that someone can be so open and so closed at the same time, and still ring sincere. It is a defense for her soft, gentle heart, but her gentleness does not mean she is weak. No, she has a spine of steel and a temper to match, though rarely ever turned on the undeserving. She survived the Game, after all, even as a novice before Leliana had taken her under her wing. 

Arianna had just been telling her about what Gaspard had done to Teagan, nearly starting another war between Ferelden and Orlais if not for Celene’s intervention. She’s never been happier she is the crux on which Orlesian power rests, even if she detests the Game, she’s become an adept player, and she learned it from the best. Josephine is quite the adept tutor, after all. 

She is a rare flower, her Josephine, but flowers are not all delicate, and she proves that time and time again, tearing apart empires with mere words as a flower manipulates the bees to carry pollen. King Fulgeno II is a fool, letting her go, and Leliana a treasure for introducing her to the Inquisition. Adaar knows the organization would have collapsed upon itself if she hadn’t.

Josephine is the foundation of the tower they have built together and—

“—quisitor! Inquisitor! You called for me?” A voice rings out through the courtyard, pulling her out of her contemplation. It is Leliana, out of her Divine robes but still catching attention from people as she walks by, them calling her “most Holy.”

She looks down to find the patch of garden she is working on completely mulched and weeded. She’s been working automatically. Adaar shakes her head, tearing herself out of her thoughts and turning her head to Leliana, “Hmm?” she says noncommittally.

Leliana gives her a gigantic grin, smiling from ear to ear, “Looks like someone's head is in the clouds, no?”

Adaar crosses her arms, gives Leliana a wry smile. “And what makes you say that?” she says.

Leliana nudges her in the side. “You were watching her again,” she says with a conspiratorial smirk. 

“I was not!” Adaar says.

“You were! I saw it with my own eyes. I’m an archer, you know. I have excellent eyesight.”

“I don’t know how you can see anything at all with that hood,” Adaar grumbles.

Leliana just laughs, then says something in musical Orlesian. “I did what you asked. She says she’d be happy to arrange everything. Give her about two weeks, and then another for you both to get there.”

Adaar chews her bottom lip, wringing her hands. “Do you think Josephine will like it?” she asks. 

Leliana pats her arm. “Of course she will, dear. I can’t say that she’s been expecting it, but I don’t think it will go amiss, especially with how romantic Josie is.”

“She hated the duel, though,” Adaar points out as she slumps over, dejected, wincing at the memory. It all worked out okay, but...Adaar sighs. 

“That’s because duels get people killed in real life outside of novels like Swords & Shields. You are lucky he backed away from his suit,” and then Leliana leans over to whisper in her ear. “And she did swoon and talk about how romantic it was afterwards, so it was a win.”

Adaar hmms. “From a certain point of view, I suppose. She’s the rare individual who mixes idealism with pragmatism, and romanticism with a certain form of realism.”

They both watch her walk back to the Great Hall of Skyhold, pretending nonchalance when Josephine finally catches them both staring at her and giggling. She puts her hand on her hips and waves her finger at them like naughty children, then shakes her head, continuing on about her business. 

“She suspects nothing!” Leliana says through her laughter.

Adaar quickly sobers though, reaching out and hugging Leliana. “Thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

“I have some idea. It’s hard, being away from the Queen and King. I am happy we were able to do this for you. One day, when all is done, I will be back where I belong, at their side.”

“It must be rough.”

“At times. But all of us knew what we were getting into, and the world is not going to fix itself.”

“But as Divine Victoria, won’t that be impossible?”

Leliana just gives Adaar an enigmatic smile. “It is a new era, with new ideas and new traditions. Who knows?”

“You really didn’t have to come down here yourself, you know,” Adaar points out.

“I know. I wanted to. It’s just been a while since we’ve talked.” Leliana shakes her head. “In any case, everything is ready. Take care of her, Herald, all right?” she says, giving Adaar another hug.

“I will, Leliana,” Adaar promises, and then Leliana winks and disappears with a smoke bomb into the shadows, right as a horde of Seekers and Templars come in looking for their wayward Divine. 

“Herald, have you seen the Divine?” One says with a quick bow. 

Adaar just shrugs. “You got me,” and then walks on to continue her rounds. She has many things to do before their departure in a couple of weeks, including filling in Cassandra and Cullen with what to do about their absence. 

When the day of their departure arrives, Adaar searches desperately for Josephine, only to find her working as per the usual, already deep into a stack of papers and talking to one of her people.

She smiles, wide and broad, and sets her plan into motion. As soon as Josephine finishes what looks to be a set of instructions for one of her noble diplomats and reaches for another piece of vellum, Adaar calls out, “Hey Josephine, I need you for a moment!”

Josephine looks up, a little surprised. “‘Sala, you're up early!”

“I am, querida. Come on. Pack your things. We’ll leave as soon as you're done.”

Josephine looks like someone dumped a pail of water over her head. “I can't! There is still so much to do!”

“Delegate!” Adaar says.

“It is not that easy! I do! I have too much business left to complete to leave now. There’s still the Kirkwall/Starkhaven treaty left to oversee, and I have to be there myself, and—”

“It’s been postponed until next month. Varric’s taking care of it, and Admiral Isabela, now that the Prince is willing to listen again.”

“Isabela!”

Josephine's breath starts to catch, so Adaar put her hand and her arm on her shoulder. “Breathe, love. All will be well.”

“But business—”

“No, no more business. Too much business, you’re working yourself to death, Josie! Come on! I’ve talked it over with Leliana and the Commander. You’re coming with me!”

“But—”

“It’s all right! The Inquisition can survive one day without you! Or you know, a couple of weeks!”

“A couple of weeks, Inquisitor! I can’t possibly be gone that long!”

“Don’t worry, I’ve already worked it out with everyone.” But Adaar sees the panic rising in Josephine’s face, so she adds,”It’s all right. Nothing of any import is going to happen, and if it does, well, we’ll come back as soon as possible.”

“Where are you taking me?” Josephine asks.

Adaar turns back, the gilt on her massive set of ram’s horns shining in the bright summer sun, a wide grin on her face.

“It’s a secret! You’ll see. But pack warm!”

Josephine doesn’t like surprises, but it is hardly the most unusual thing her Lady Adaar had done. She trusts her with this. Adaar has never let her down before, so she will trust this.

Admittedly, she may have been right about the overwork, though.

In a short time, their travel things are packed, and they head out on the fine horses Dennet picked out for them: Adaar on a fine black Fereldan destrier, Josephine on a white Orlesian courser as their preference.

No carriages for either of them.

They are a study in contrasts as they ride together, and always have been. 

Adaar, the beast with ram's horns and ears like an elf—an oxman, a ‘dangerous thing,’ a mercenary, a thug. Deep grey skin, ‘like a corpse,’ as the children in the village used to say. Long hair twisted back in a severe plait, but hoary as the old. Poor at first. Loud and outspoken, with a wicked sense of humor. Taller than the world, and they never let her forget it.

Josephine, the beauty from Antivan nobility, human and ever so beautiful, soft-spoken but firm, intelligent, strong, descended from a merchant family, light umber skin, hair as dark as kohl.

For the first time in a long time, Adaar and Josephine have a little time to themselves. The Inquisition guards come, but they keep their distance, leaving them with the feeling of near solitude.

They talk of things philosophical and serious, or light or fashionable. They blur in the delight, and Adaar finds she doesn't mind not being able to talk about what they have spoken of. In any case, the trip into the heart of Ferelden is not long, and as soon as they reach the Waking Sea, it’s a straight shot to Highever.

The city hasn't changed much since the last time Adaar was here, she thinks as they enter. More prosperous, perhaps, but that's a consequence of being the hometown of the queen.

Teyrn Fergus Cousland has offered them lodging on behalf of his sister, and they have sent their luggage on to Highever Castle for a fortnight's stay, but it’s almost more than Adaar can stand.

She wants this over with. As much as she loves Josephine, she does not know how she will react, and so it makes her nervous.

As they approach their destination, Adaar begins to tremble with anticipation. She has only been here once before, and the sight of the great white doors still fill her a little with awe.

Josephine is understandably confused when they stop seemingly in the middle of nowhere, walls too high to be seen by anyone not looking from a Circle tower or the Castle battlements. They follow the neat cobble path as the Highever guards open the door. 

Josephine gasps as they enter the wide open space. It is a garden, and one unlike she has ever seen. “Where are we? A place this fine must surely have a name, no?” Josephine asks. “Why have I not heard of it?”

“Oriana’s Garden,” Adaar says to Josephine’s curious gaze. “By personal invitation, though it is open to the public. It’s a well-kept open secret.”

Josephine takes a step forward, casting a slow gaze on everything. There are statues and fountains and plants already in bloom even though some are out of season.

The roses though, stand out the most, along with the wisteria trailing from the trees, cascading them in a blanket purple. But there are flowers everywhere. There are crocuses, amaryllis, hyacinths, columbines, daisies, more flowers than Adaar could recognize or count. “They transplant them,” Adaar says. “I think this is the experimental garden, where they test cold tolerance and such.”

Josephine shakes her head. “I have never heard of this place. That is an Antivan name, no?” Adaar nods. “ The gardens are very fine,” she says, trailing one hand along the tops of blushing pink roses. “It must cost a fortune to keep these in good health.”

“I think they employ over two hundred gardeners, just for this.” Adaar says. “Who knew Fereldans were so extravagant. It almost sounds Orlesian, or like the wild hair of a Tevinter Magister, but no. It’s the Queen’s Garden.”

“The Queen? The Hero of Ferelden, you mean?” Josephine says, look shrewd. 

“Named after her sister-in-law, killed by the late Howe in the attack on Highever Castle, as the story goes,” Adaar says. She puts her hand on her arm. “Come, they’re massive. Very beautiful. We’ve a lot to see, so let’s get to it.”

They walk through a set of thick glass doors, and are set immediately inside what seems like a sauna. The air is thick and warm and humid, and flowers Josephine knew are tropical or out-of-season are growing with wild abandon. 

Josephine runs her hand along the glass and metal frame. The glasswork is Orlesian, imported from Serault, and it shines multi-faceted in the light from large lamps above.

“And they don’t use magic at all?” Josephine asks as she peruses the rows and rows of flowers. They’re not neatly manicured; instead, they grow here and there, planted in odd stylistic patterns around the paths.

“No,” Adaar says, “And that’s what makes it fascinating!” Her pink-purple eyes are shining with her excitement. “New technology, innovation overtaking old practices and not linked to magic tricks. It’s quite a remarkable thing, really.”

“What do they call it then, this building for plants?”

“Correct me on my Tevene, but giardini botanici, I believe. Botanical gardens, though I have overheard a gardener or two call it a greenhouse. Typical Fereldan, keeping it short and simple. A house for green things.”

“I see,” says Josephine. 

“It is almost spring, though, so we can see some of the budding greenery. Would you like to see the rest of the gardens?”

“There’s more?” Josephine asks, standing on the tips of her toes to reach the top of Adaar’s shoulder, grabbing her arm tightly. 

“These are just the tropical gardens. The native ones are outside, farther back in the second section of garden. They can survive the cold harsh Ferelden Winters. I don't think the days are still freezing here, but you never can tell. Ferelden is unpredictable that way.” 

“What kinds do they have there?” Josephine asks.

“Well, I’m no expert, love, but I know they have some Crystal Grace and some Winter’s Bloom.”

“Oh,” Josephine breathes. “Winter’s Bloom is rare.” As she is speaking, they come out in the middle of a barren garden. Highlighting the rotunda fountain in the center of the garden though, are hundreds of Winter’s Bloom plants, cascading down the columns. 

Adaar reaches out and touches one of the soft blooms. “Like velvet,” she says. “My favorite.”

“That is the singular thing about Ferelden. People expect mud and dogs and rarely culture,” Josephine says, trailing her hand along the wolf fur lining of Adaar’s coat. “But the culture here is no less vibrant, if a bit, how do you say?”

Adaar quirks a brow. “Rugged?”

Josephine jumps immediately on the word. “Rugged, yes. That is the word. Very well put.”

They walk further into another greenhouse, but while this one has wide windows, it is taller, and has more brick. Adaar speaks, “This one is a arboretum. Many of the trees are grafts. There's supposed to be one that grows five different types of apples.”

“Five? This one had to be cultivated for a long time,” Josephine says. “The trees are quite large, and already bearing fruit!”

“They’ve been working on it since the Blight, so they say,” Adaar says. “It was part of the rebuilding.”

Josephine turns to her. “After what happened with the mages, I didn’t think we were on such good terms with Ferelden royalty we could do this, have the whole garden to explore at our leisure. At least I have not heard of it those winds changing, and I would be the first.” Adaar smiles at Josephine’s put-out look, but as adorable as it is, Josephine takes pride in her job, and not only that, but she’s very serious about it, and so Adaar endeavors to explain.

“Fereldan nobility, maybe. Fereldan royalty, definitely not, though it has nothing to do with Fereldan ties to the Inquisition. I met the Queen.”

“Where?”

“It’s a long story, one I’d rather not get into here, but suffice to say she invited me here.”

“Just at your word?” she asks, half-turned from the orange tree with is round, perfect fruits.  
Adaar laughs, a light chuckle, reaching out to pluck one, peeling it efficiently with her fingernails in the cradle of her arm, before handing a wedge to Josephine. “It was a little more than that, but something like it, anyway. Leliana helped, admittedly.” 

“Hmm, I see.” Josephine said with a laugh. “You’ve gotten quite good at that, by the by.” Josephine notes, taking the wedge from her and eating it primly.

Adaar laces her good hand in Josephine’s. “You know as well as I do that the Inquisition has to change if we are to survive as an organization, and I can’t bear to see us go the way of the Templars and the Seekers. And Ameridan—what will they say about me as Inquisitor, I wonder?”

“You will never know, so it is pointless to worry,” Josephine says.

“Even so, it’s not too different from your siblings and the worry over your family? Knowing you’ll have a name to pass on and people to pass it on to, even if they are your nieces and nephews?”

“Well, maybe not Yvette, the silly thing,” Josephine mumbles, almost petulantly.

“She has grown in the past few years, and the only reason she can be free to be so silly is she has an excellent, dependable older sister,” Adaar says, leaning down to brush her lips against Josie’s temple.

“You flatter me, my dear,” Josephine murmurs into her ear.

“Believe me, it is all intentional,” Adaar says back, just as quietly, and captures her lips, tilting her head just so, meeting at a perfect angle. Josephine pops her foot as Adaar encircles her arms around her, reaching her good hand up to nestle at the nape of Josephine’s neck.

It is a gentle press, a chaste beginning before Josephine runs the tip of her tongue ever so slightly over Adaar’s soft lips, asking for entrance that Adaar grants eagerly, widening her mouth and slipping in a tongue that feels of soft velvet. 

Like the petals of a flower.

They drink of one another for a long time before Adaar pulls away, short of breath, but she rests her face against Josephine’s neck, a blush rising on her dark grey cheeks. Kissing Josephine never fails to remind her how lucky she is, that this amazing driven woman would even condescend to be on the same level as her. 

“I am glad.” Josephine says, pink dusting her cheeks from the heated kiss. She bites her bottom lip, drawing Adaar’s eyes to it, and then she looks around, clearing her throat and pointedly changing the subject. “You truly know nothing of your family? I feel as if I've told you all about mine.”

Adaar smiles at her, a little bitter, a little sad. “You have. It's...nice, hearing about a happy family for once.”

Josephine turns to her, her head tilted, her eyes so earnest and concerned. "Are you all right? We do not have to talk about it if you wish."

Adaar doesn't answer right away. She knows she was a mistake, an accident in the heat of the moment; the forbidden daughter of an ashaad undergoing re-education and a tamassran, she shouldn't even exist. Always their very public shame. 

And if that wasn't enough, a sarebaas, said with loathing when her magic manifested. Sometimes when she closes her eyes, she can still see the dawning horror in their eyes, that singular look of fear and disgust. She learned not to meet their eyes a long time ago.

Abandoned to the elements at ten, forced to survive on her own, and picked up by a Circle apostate living with some of the tal-vashoth not long after. 

"I know a little," she admits. “You could probably ask Leliana. I’m sure she knows more about them then I do.” But she tells her what she knows, and Josephine frowns, making a moue, so Adaar adds, “Found family is much more important, anyway.”

“I see how it would be. Forgive me, Lady Adaar, for bringing up a painful subject,” Josephine says, holding on to her hand tightly.

“No, you deserve to know,” she says to finish their conversation, and she still she holds on to Josephine’s hand, grasping it like it’s a lifeline, and they walk through the gardens in a quiet, contemplative silence, each with their minds on different things.

Almost without realizing it, they find themselves back in the first greenhouse, the tropical one, where the air is nice and warm and humid. It makes it a little easier to breathe, Adaar nods to the elf she meets on the path, who gives her a long look and a knowing smile before looking pointedly at a little lattice awning covered in blooming morning glory vines and a curtain of ivy. She winks, and the elf walks away with a chuckle. If Josephine notices their unusual interaction, she doesn’t say anything. 

It’s a small wonder Josephine hasn’t picked up on it yet. Maybe she has, but isn’t saying anything about it. These gardens are open to everyone, but they have seen no traffic, save for that single, solitary elf.

They rest on one of the little stone benches that show up every so often on the path, arm in arm, Josephine leaning against Adaar’s taller form. It’s nice just to sit there and relax freely, something they can hardly do at Skyhold with all its important business and administrative tasks.

When Josephine is done resting, they move on, circling ever and ever out, Adaar guiding her gently to the the little awning hidden almost completely by the ivy.

Adaar can tell the minute that she sees it, her eyes widening ever slightly in that tell she's never been able to get rid of (not that she's a gullible as Commander Cullen to even get suckered into a game of Wicked Grace betting against Josie).

The enormous solitary red lily, sitting in a golden vase. “Kostasala?” Josephine asks, wonder in her tone, “what is this?”

Adaar doesn’t answer merely staring at the diamond ring encircling the filaments and style of the lily. She walks over to it and plucks the lily from the vase, walking back to Josephine, and kneeling on one knee, her white dress flowing as she moves. 

Josephine's hands move to her mouth as Kostasala snaps and the sweet sounds of cello and violin fill the air. Small golden firefly-like lights dot the air around them.

Adaar holds out her hand, lily and all, placing her stump over her heart. “Josephine Montilyet, will you marry me?”

“Oh yes,” she breathes, and pulls Adaar to her, kissing her for all that she’s worth. When she's done, she pulls back, her hair mussed and half down but she doesn't care, not at this moment.

Adaar hands her the lily so she can take the ring from the center and slip it over her ring finger.

Once she’s done, Josephine falls back to the ground, closing her eyes as the world spins around her. She holds the flower Kostasala gives her to her lips and breathes in deeply before tossing herself backwards into the grass.

  
  


It’s been so long since Josephine has let herself be so free, and now she revels in it, the sheer unadulterated joy of finally being engaged to the one woman who understands and loves her better than anyone else ever could.

Adaar joins her, lying next her on the soft grass, peppering her face with kisses: her forehead, her eyelids, her beautiful, unique nose, her lips—

They start slow and chaste, but slowly turn more and more heated, and Adaar’s hand starts to wander, trailing her hand down Josephine’s neck before moving over her breast in a haste to get to her hand. She brushes the tip and feels the nipple harden, and the sensation makes Josephine gasp into her mouth, deepening the kiss. She doesn't take advantage of it though.

Instead, Adaar pulls away. “I'm sorry, Josephine, are you all right?”

Josephine doesn't move, a dazed look in her eye, almost as if she is confused by the removal of the contact.

It is an unspoken agreement between them to hold off until the time is right, and a spoken one to ask every time heavy petting is involved. “Yes, I do believe I am,” she says. “Are you ready yourself, my dear?”

Adaar isn't one for sex. Never has been. Too different, too big for the rest of the world, and that hasn’t quite been conducive to solid, healthy relationships. But Josephine is her world, and she is looking at her with those eyes; eyes that speak of love and trust and warmth enough to melt the heartsnow of a Fereldan Mountain.

“You know what?” Adaar says, “I think I am.”

“Here?” Josephine asks, just to make sure, her eyes weighted with something it's all too easy to name.

Adaar feels heat pool in the bottom of her abdomen at the very thought. “Why not?”

“Feel free to explore,” Josephine says. “Consider it an education for your new career.” She and Adaar laugh.

And then there is a long pause. Almost as if they are not sure where to begin. Something hangs in the air, heavy and low, and tentatively Adaar reaches out her hand. Josephine closes the distance, placing her hand on top of Adaar’s, and pulls it to her breast, the hardened nipple easily felt through the thin white silk.

Adaar lets out a slow, measured breath. She doesn't feel the spark they say is supposed to be there, but as she pulls at it, she sees Josephine squirm, and that fills her with happiness, which is close enough.

Josephine pulls away a little, dropping her her sleeves down, leaving her completely bare to the waist as she hadn't been able to wear smallclothes.

She's a little self-conscious at Adaar’s gaze, ever so studious, but Adaar just reaches over, running a hand along the smooth sloped lines of her shoulder. 

Josephine keeps her hands busy, unclothing Adaar, and soon they lie naked in the grass, surrounded by the flowers, the red lily a splash of bright color against the grass, a dull green in comparison.

Josephine leans back on her hands as Adaar leans forward almost hesitantly. It starts with a kiss to the crown, and then one on the nose, and then the barest nibble of teeth on a bottom lip, Adaar drinks from Josephine, tongues thrusting against one another, before moving down, pressing soft kisses down her neck.

Here Adaar hesitates, but not for long. She has always been a woman of action, and so kisses down the chin to the crook of Josephine's neck and shoulder, sucking gently with a little bit of teeth. “I’ll have a mark,” Josephine says with a smile on her face.

Adaar pulls away, biting her bottom lip. “Do you mind?”

Josephine keeps smiling. “Of course not. Do you mind if I touch you?”

Adaar nods mutely, and so Josephine's hands begin to roam, even as Adaar trails kisses down to her breasts. 

She takes her tongue and laps at one, delighting in the soft noises Josephine makes. She uses her teeth and to graze her nipple, and Josephine bucks, her thighs desperately searching out friction.

She finds it in one of Adaar’s own thighs, and begins rubbing herself against it to the rhythm of Adaar’s tongue.

The sensation is almost overwhelming, and the needy little sounds Josephine is making shake her down to her core. Adaar wants to hear more of it, more and louder, so she pulls away, ignoring Josephine's sigh of disappointment.

Instead, she begins kissing lower and lower, Josephine gasping when she realizes her intent. Adaar knows she's unskilled, having ever only been with men, but there is only one way to learn, and she wants Josephine to feel as least as happy as she is.

She licks her stomach tentatively, tracing the lines of her hips, dipping her tongue into the hollow, kissing her way down to the patch of hair.

She moves further down, pausing only for a moment to.widen her thighs before kissing her at her core. She flicks her tongue, moving around the pearl at the center but not directly touching it, and the taste and smell and touch and sound of Josephine gives her a heady high.

Josephine is fisting her hair, clenching her thighs around her horns and head and bucking against her mouth, when Adaar dares to do the things she's always read in books and thrusts her tongue inside her.

Josephine mewls, words like “Oh, Maker,” escaping her every now and again and devolving into voiceless praise.

It takes some time to figure out how to breathe, but by that time Josephine’s close and she moves her head up and catches her in a fiery kiss, replacing her tongue with two fingers slick with Josephine. Adaar thrusts, scissoring and curling her fingers until she hits the spot that makes Josephine scream. 

She continues until Josephine has ridden it out, pulling her close and giving her a long kiss when she is sated. “My dear Adaar, are you sure you are not an Antivan? Such a quick learner!” Josephine says.

Adaar blushes a little; how strange to see after everything, they'd just done, that's what makes her blush. “My dear fiancée,” Adaar murmurs in her ear.

Josephine laughs and replies, “Future wife!” Then she gets a strange look on her face as they pick up the pieces of their clothing and make themselves presentable for the trip to Highever Castle. “Ooh,” she practically squeals. “I get to plan a wedding! Yvette and Leliana can be my bridesmaids, and oh wait, maybe Leliana can officiate, you are the Herald after all and it wouldn't be out of place for the Divine to—”

Adaar just laughs and listens as Josephine continues to add a guest list of all these nobles and royalty, and while the thought does make her dark skin pale a bit, being nothing but a Valo-kas merc at heart, it warms her heart to see Josephine this animated and excited.

She wouldn't have it any other way.


End file.
